Amnesia
by TheLadyMango
Summary: After a head injury Crowley gets amnesia and thinks he's human. He still has his demonic powers and keeps accidentally using them, much to his confusion. There's only so many times he can explain such weird happenings away.


It was on a whim that Crowley decided to wander into this newly opened establishment whilst passing by after having performed a few quick temptations nearby.

The place reeked of decadence and money, and was, in Crowley's opinion, rather over the top for what it was - just a small cafe. But he rather liked the showiness.

Tall, oversized mirrors in golden frames hung on opposite walls, reflecting back the small room and making it seem larger. High above, three beautiful golden chandeliers sparkled with the light of what seemed like hundreds of little candles - the flames not real fire but electric lights, Crowley noted - and the tiny lights were reflected back in the mirrors, seeming to repeat over and over to infinity.

Crowley joked with himself that the place would give the Ritz a run for its money. If the food were any good he would certainly bring Aziraphale here.

The waitress walked over with Crowley's coffee and a slice of salted caramel cake.

He removed his sunglasses with a flourish, putting then on the table. He felt oddly bare as he looked up at her, his eyes exposed, but he didn't need to use his powers to stop her from noticing his yellow slitted snake eyes, because, today, he had decided to try out coloured contact lenses.

Now his eyes were a beautiful ocean blue and he adored them. They made him feel like a normal human, like he fitted in amongst these people. He wished he'd tried contact lenses sooner, but he'd never really liked the idea of having to press them onto his eyes. Fortunately, they were not as uncomfortable as he had feared, and now he couldn't even feel their presence at all.

He couldn't wait for Aziraphale to see them. He would surprise the angel with them when they went out for dinner on Sunday.

The waitress smiled at him, making eye contact, such a simple gesture but one that Crowley rarely shared with strangers. He smiled back as she placed down his coffee and cake before him. "Thank you," he said.

"Thank you, sir," she replied, looking him in the eye again, making him feel happy and content. She walked away.

Crowley lifted the coffee. It smelled delicious, and with a demonic wish it cooled to the perfect drinking temperature. He started to bring the cup to his lips but before he had a chance to take a sip, the chandelier directly above him promptly dislodged from the high ceiling and fell right onto his head, knocking him from his chair and onto the floor.

A sharp pain ripped through his skull and his vision blurred, exploding with shocks of white, before he fell unconscious.

* * *

Crowley stood outside of the hospital, feeling lost and alone, waiting for a taxi.

The doctors had told him he was safe to go home and that his memory would probably come back within a few days. Probably. They didn't seem to know.

He had been told that if there was no improvement or if new issues arose then he should return to the hospital. He had argued that he didn't want to leave but they said there was no point in keeping him in any longer. He suspected that they needed the bed.

The painkillers he had been given couldn't quite stop the faint dull ache from pounding in his head.

He didn't know who he was. Oh, he knew his name was Anthony J Crowley, but he only knew that because it was written on the driving licence he had found in his wallet. He didn't even know what the J stood for.

Annoyingly, he didn't have a mobile phone on him so he couldn't get hold of any family or friends to help him. (In fact, he had left his mobile at home because it ruined the cut of his outfit, and he figured he would just wish it to his side if he needed it. His thin, sleek wallet he just about tolerated in his back pocket.)

His driving license also had his address on it so when the taxi driver arrived at the hospital to pick him up he gave her this address. There was some cash in his wallet so at least he could pay her without any problems.

The drive to his flat was a short one. He didn't recognise the building, and when the taxi drove away again, he felt oddly abandoned.

He hesitated when he got to the top of the stairwell, standing awkwardly outside his own front door. He felt uncomfortable as he knocked, wondering if a spouse or a housemate might let him in. He felt disappointed when there was no answer.

There was a key on a chain attached to his wallet and he was able to open his front door with it. He had hoped that the sight of his home might jog his memory, but he felt nothing.

Nervously, feeling like he was stepping into somebody else's life, he explored the flat and quickly determined that he lived there alone.

The flat made him feel uncomfortable. It was too clean and tidy, it felt unlived in. Everything looked brand new, state-of-the-art and expensive, from the huge widescreen television to the sleek computer. It felt fake. Desperate.

Was this the sort of person he was? The sort of person who felt that they needed to have the newest, fanciest things?

Crowley looked with dismay at a particularly hideous and angular floor lamp. He didn't like it. He disliked quite a lot of the décor, and he suspected that he only owned these things because they were trendy. It seemed as though he replaced things a lot, always wanting to be fashionable, always wanting to fit in. It must cost him a small fortune and Crowley found it all very depressing.

However, there were some things here that he did like. The artwork on the walls was stunning, and he was especially impressed by a sketch that reminded him of the Mona Lisa. He also liked the plants dotted about, adding a dash of colour to the stark black and white colour scheme of the rooms. But ultimately this place didn't feel like home, it looked like it was just a set piece from a film or something.

Crowley felt alone and overwhelmed, he didn't know what to do next.

He was standing in the living room staring at an impressive painting of an old vintage car that hung on the wall, when he felt a sudden craving for a soothing cup of coffee. He wished that he had a coffee with all of his being, and his demonic magic, lying dormant, waiting for him to use his powerful imagination, leapt into action. He found himself standing with a mug of delicious steaming hot coffee in his right hand.

He started, let out a yelp, and dropped the mug onto the lacquered wooden floorboards. He backed away quickly and sat down heavily on a white leather sofa, staring at the mess. The white porcelain mug lay on its side and the coffee had splashed across the floor.

How had this happened? How had a hot drink just appeared in his hand like that? He had no recollection of making that drink and yet he must have. Not only did he have amnesia, but now his short term memory was shot as well. He had to go back to the hospital.

Glancing to the side of him, he noticed something that had partly slipped down the side of sofa. He grabbed at it and realised it was a jet black, sleek mobile phone. It had a fingerprint sensor on the back and when he pressed his index finger to it the screen burst into life. His background was a picture of a sunlit park.

He considered ringing the emergency services, but calling an ambulance seemed a bit over the top. Instead, he decided to see if he could find someone to help him, maybe even drive him to the hospital and look after him, help him to remember who he was.

Crowley scrolled through his phonebook, looking for 'mum' or 'dad' or someone that could be a girlfriend… or a boyfriend - he was pretty sure he was gay. Most of the numbers looked like work contacts but one person was listed as 'Angel.' He wondered if this could be a lover. He considered ringing it, but he worried that Angel might just a surname, rather than a nickname, and he didn't know what he would say. He might just make a fool of himself.

He set down his phone on the coffee table, feeling anxious, and put his head into his hands with a sigh. He closed his eyes. He wondered why he could not find his parents numbers in his phone. Was this just a work phone or had they disowned him or something? Perhaps for being gay? Crowley was worried that he had no family or friends, no-one that cared about him or wanted to help him. He found himself almost scared of getting his memories back, scared of finding out how alone he truly was.

A loud ringing burst through the silence making Crowley jump. His phone was ringing and when he looked at the screen, he saw that it was Angel ringing him. He answered his phone, hoping desperately that this was someone that would want to help him.

"Hello?" Crowley said.

"Crowley," said a distinguished male voice. "It's me."

The use of his surname suggested that this was not a romantic partner.

"Where are you?" Angel continued. "I know you like to be fashionably late, but you were supposed to pick me up half an hour ago."

"I- Er. Sorry. I'm sorry. I hit my head. My memory is a bit messed up."

"Oh, my goodness!" said Angel, now all concern. "I'm so sorry. Are you alright? What happened?"

"Who are you? How do we know each other?"

There was silence for a moment. "Is… is this a joke?" Angel asked hopefully. "Because I don't get it."

"No. I wish it were. Don't take it personally that I don't remember you. I don't even know who I am!" Crowley let out an awkward laugh.

"It's me. Aziraphale. I'm your friend. You really don't remember?"

Crowley smiled, feeling pleased. "We're friends?"

"Crowley, what happened? Where are you?"

"They said a chandelier fell on my head in a café and knocked me out. I'm at home now. I just got out from the hospital."

"Y- You were in the hospital?! Stay there, I'll be right over!"

"They said I have amnesia but everything should come back to me soon enough. But I think I should go back to the hospital, I've had some short term memory loss. One second I was wishing I had a cup of coffee, the next, one just seemed to materialise in my hand!"

"Oh! Oh, Crowley! Have a good sit down and just wait for me, okay? Don't do anything! I'll be right over."

"Thank you… Az… earfall? Did I say that right?"

"Aziraphale, dear. Don't you worry, I'll be right over and everything will be okay!"

"Can you take me to the hospital please?"

"Yes. Yes. Certainly. Now, you relax and wait for me, I'll see you very soon. Goodbye."

Crowley had barely said goodbye in return before Aziraphale had hung up the phone.

Crowley felt a little bit better now. He had someone to look after him and who might help jog his memory, and he found that he trusted Aziraphale. He had a kind, friendly voice.

* * *

Aziraphale dashed outside just as a taxi miraculously pulled up beside the bookshop and leapt in.

Crowley had sounded so scared and lost during their telephone conversation. There was no doubt in the angel's mind that Crowley had been telling the truth.

Aziraphale tapped his foot fretfully as the taxi drove away through Soho towards Mayfair.

He had never known this happen before, to a demon or an angel, but he felt sure that he could heal Crowley easily enough. He had healed many humans in his time and he had healed Crowley plenty too. He could do this. All he had to do was press his hand to Crowley's forehead and use his healing powers to fix his damaged brain and everything would be okay. It would all be okay.

But he had to get there fast, because there was no telling what a demon that had lost his memory but still had his powers might do. He was a danger to himself and to others. Using his occult powers to miracle a cup of coffee out of nowhere was nothing compared to what Crowley was capable of doing. He had always had an incredible imagination and could manipulate the world around him in ways that most other demons and angels could only dream of. In Aziraphale's opinion, Crowley was one of the most powerful demons in that regard, if only he had the confidence to match it. Right now, Crowley had no control over or understanding of his powers and that terrified Aziraphale.

A little voice in the back of his mind worried that he wasn't strong enough to heal Crowley's amnesia, and the only other option he had didn't bare thinking about but he couldn't let a demon wander around with barely restrained powers he didn't understand. If all else failed, Aziraphale could discorporate him to release him from the damaged physical body he was trapped inside and as soon as he reappeared in Hell his full memory would come back. The demons would give him a new body and send him back up to Earth and then everything would be back to normal. Except, what if this head injury and the memory loss went beyond the human vessel to the demon beneath? Crowley thought he was human. Would he think he had died and his soul gone to Hell? What fun the other demons would have. Aziraphale felt sick at the thought of it. No, he could not risk Crowley facing that fate, he would not discorporate him. He had to heal him, it had to work.

Just a healing hand to the forehead, and then everything would be alright.

* * *

Crowley bent down to scoop up the mug from the floor, glancing at the spilt coffee before meandering off into the kitchen.

He placed the mug into the sink then started opening cupboards looking for something he could use to clean up the mess.

There was a radio in the countertop, an elegant, expensive looking thing, and he thought to himself that some music might help to calm his nerves.

Unsure how the gadget worked, he just pressed the nearest, biggest button and hoped for the best. As if by magic the radio burst into life and started to play something lively and cheerful.

He went back to looking through cupboards.

"CROWLEY?"

He let out a shocked yelp and jolted upright. He looked around.

"HELLO? CROWLEY?"

The music had stopped and it seemed like the voice was coming from the radio. He stared at it in bewilderment.

"CROWLEY! I KNOW YOU'RE THERE!"

The voice sounded furious.

Crowley shrank back. He decided that, somehow, his mobile phone must have a blue tooth connection to the radio. He didn't really understand how these things worked. He didn't like it.

"Hello?" Crowley squeaked.

"WHY HAVEN'T YOU HANDED IN YOUR REPORT YET? IT'S SEVERAL DAYS LATE! THIS IS NOT ACCEPTABLE."

"Oh. Er. I'm sorry. I've hit my head, and-"

"I DON'T WANT EXCUSES! SEND US THAT REPORT OR THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES!"

"But I don't- I've got amnesia..." He stopped speaking. The music had started up again and he found that he was just talking over the rhythmic beat. "Hello? Hello?! Are you still there?"

There was no reply. They had hung up.

Crowley turned off the radio and dashed back into the living room, the coffee stain forgotten. He grabbed his mobile phone and looked at his recent incoming calls list. He had to talk to them, he had to explain what had happened, make them understand. He assumed that it was his boss from work that he had just spoken to. He needed to tell them he couldn't go into work tomorrow - he didn't even know where his work was.

But the last incoming call was from Aziraphale. Why wasn't the call from work showing up on here? He looked through the phone book again but he couldn't find anything that looked quite right. Technology was useless. Frustrated, he threw himself gloomily onto the sofa and flung the phone beside him onto the empty seat.

But he didn't actually want to talk to them. Whoever he had spoken to on the phone had sounded like an absolute asshole. Perhaps he should quit his job. Judging by his expensive and flashy décor, he must have a high paying occupation, but no amount of money was worth this kind of treatment and stress. He didn't want or need all these gadgets and things. He would be happier in a low paying, less nerve-wracking job.

He looked up at the huge wide-screen television in front of him, and, without thinking, he automatically waved a hand at it and it switched on. He assumed that it must have some sort of motion-detection control, and he marvelled that he was able to subconsciously remember how to turn it on. The news was on, but he couldn't really concentrate on it so he walked over to the window and stared out, waiting for Aziraphale.

A luxurious sports car pulled up outside and a young man in an expensive suit got out and flipped his hair theatrically. Crowley peered at him, wondering if this was Aziraphale, perhaps they were both equally obsessed with looking chic. But somehow, the voice didn't match the man and Crowley was relieved when he vanished into a neighbouring building.

A taxi zoomed around the corner and came to an abrupt stop outside. The driver seemed a bit dazed.

A man, slightly older than himself, wearing what looked like a vintage three-piece-suit, practically fell out of the car and ran at full pelt towards Crowley's apartment building. He looked up, spotted Crowley in the window, and waved enthusiastically before vanishing out of view.

Crowley heard the downstairs door open, and then quick footsteps pounding on the stairs. He crossed the room and opened the door just as the man came jogging up the stairs into view.

"Hello, Crowley! It's me! Aziraphale!" the man gasped, slightly out of breath. He smiled warmly, now in front of Crowley on the landing, then he did a double take. "Oh! Your eyes!"

"Huh?"

"Oh! Just- You normally wear glasses. You must be wearing contact lenses instead. Never mind. How are you feeling?"

To Crowley's shock, this man suddenly and without warning stepped towards him and reached for his face. Crowley ducked away and took a step back, feeling awkward.

Aziraphale lowered his hands and looked embarrassed.

"D- do you know where I work?" Crowley asked rapidly. "Because my work just rang me and they're pretty pissed, and they want a report or something, and- and I couldn't get a word in edgeways! To explain! I need to ring in sick and explain everything! I can't go into work like this!"

"Don't worry about that. You, er, work from home."

"I do?" Crowley turned to look behind him at his office. "Maybe the report is in there! Maybe I already did it but didn't send it yet." He walked back into his flat, feeling hopeful.

Crowley waved a hand at the television and it switched off. This seemed to worry Aziraphale for some reason.

"Don't worry about work right now, that can wait."

"Yeah, you're right. My boss seems like a knob anyway, maybe I should quit. I need to go back to the hospital, I don't feel right. Why isn't my memory coming back? It's just getting worse."

Crowley looked anxiously at the coffee he had spilt on the floor.

"You should have a sit down first. Try to relax. Have something to drink," Aziraphale said soothingly. "I'll get you a glass of water."

"Oh. Okay," Crowley said, figuring that taking a moment to calm down might actually do him some good.

Aziraphale steered Crowley towards the sofa and once again, tried to touch his face. Crowley glared at him.

"Er… I just want to make sure you don't have a fever."

"I don't, so stop it."

Aziraphale gave him an awkward smile. "I'll go get that water for you…"

Aziraphale vanished into the kitchen and Crowley watched him go with some suspicion. He sat down on the sofa nervously. He didn't trust Aziraphale.

"How do I know you again?" Crowley asked casually. He felt on edge.

"Oh! We are very old friends," Aziraphale said warmly as he came back from the kitchen.

Aziraphale handed Crowley a glass of water. He took it and stared into it, wondering how likely it was that Aziraphale had put something dodgy in it. He didn't know this guy, he seemed very gay and he kept trying to touch him. He said they were old friends, but…

"Why don't you call me by my first name?"

"You prefer to be called Crowley."

All he knew was that he was supposed to have been picking Aziraphale up to go somewhere. It could have been anywhere, a work function maybe, perhaps they were just colleagues. Or maybe Aziraphale already knew about his memory loss and everything he said on the phone was a lie, maybe they never had any plans together at all.

Crowley put down his glass on the coffee table. He stood up and moved towards the door.

"I really need to go to the hospital."

"Oh…"

Crowley's left eye felt itchy, he rubbed at it distractedly. When he looked up again he saw that Aziraphale had put himself in front of the door, blocking the way. Panic grew in Crowley's chest.

Aziraphale was wringing his hands worriedly. "I really think it would be best if-"

"Get out of my way!" Crowley yelled angrily, fear washing over him.

"Please, I'm trying to help…" Aziraphale looked conflicted, then he lunged at him, trying to push a hand against Crowley's face.

Crowley let out a terrified scream, struggling to escape, and with all of the force he could muster he shoved Aziraphale away.

Aziraphale went flying, literally arching up through the air, and then collided against the door with a loud crash.

Crowley was so startled by his own strength that he just stood there for a moment, wide eyed with disbelief, until Aziraphale started to stand up again with a pained groan.

The only door to outside, Crowley's only escape route, was blocked by his assailant. The flat was too high up to jump out of a window so he ran into the bathroom and locked the door. He backed away, listening intently.

Crowley felt amazed that he had been able to fight back like that. He wondered if he secretly knew karate, but suspected he was just high on adrenalin.

He heard movement on the other side of the door and gulped.

"Sorry…" said Aziraphale, "I think we rather got off on the wrong foot-"

"Gee! You think?!" Crowley responded hysterically. "Get out of my house! Right now! Fuck off!"

Crowley's left eye hurt. He rubbed at it furiously and his contact lens came away in his hand. Great, so now his vision was impaired in one eye and there was a deranged pervert hanging out in his flat. Perfect. Just perfect!

The lens was a bright, beautiful shade of blue. Coloured contacts? Well, of course, why not? Everything else about him was fake and desperate, so why not? He probably didn't even need contact lenses or glasses to be able to see, in fact, yes, he could still see perfectly! Why not change his eye colour to something more en vogue? For fucks sake, was he really so insecure that-

Crowley froze.

He had just looked up into the mirror above the sink.

One eye was blue. The other was… the other…

His other eye was yellow with a long slitted pupil like that of a monster. He opened his mouth to scream but nothing came out. He recoiled in horror. Then, he edged to the mirror again, because surely he must have hallucinated that, it couldn't be real, it just couldn't, but when he took a second look his eye was just as monstrous and unnatural as it had been moments before.

Legs like jelly, he moved to sit on the edge of the bath. He was shaking, tears streaming down his face. He needed a doctor, or, more likely, a priest. He didn't know what was happening to him.

"I'm hallucinating. I have monster eyes," he sobbed.

There was silence on the other side of the door and for a moment Crowley thought Aziraphale had left.

"They are yellow, yes? They are snake eyes, my dear. Those are your true eyes. You are not hallucinating."

"I'm not? Wh- why the hell do I have eyes like a snake?!"

Aziraphale sighed. "We are not ordinary humans, you and I. We have special powers. We are like superheroes. Sort of."

Crowley gazed at the closed door in shock. "Special powers? Like what? Do you have weird eyes too?"

"My eyes are just ordinary eyes. But your eyes are special, you can see in the dark."

"Do I have super strength?" Crowley asked, thinking of how he had thrown Aziraphale across the room.

"Yes. You are so very powerful. But you don't have full control over your powers right now and I was scared of what might happen if you went out in public. But I have the power to heal. I think I can heal your amnesia. That's why I kept trying to touch your forehead - to heal you. But I've handled this situation terribly. I'm so sorry for frightening you."

"You were trying to heal me?"

"Yes."

Crowley wanted to believe him so bad, but he still felt afraid. It was all too much to take in.

"Please… will you let me try to heal you?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley felt overwhelmed. None of this made any sense.

After a moment, Aziraphale spoke up again. "Maybe this will help…"

He pushed a photograph under the door and Crowley walked over and picked it up. It had been folded up like it had been kept in a wallet for a while. The photo was slightly dog-eared around the edges and looked as though it could easily be from over a hundred years ago. It was in sepia tone, and it showed the two of them smiling, side by side, wearing Victorian style clothing complete with top hats. They both looked the same age as they did now, though they both had mutton chops in the photo. Crowley wondered if the facial hair had been glued on.

"We like to cosplay together, huh?" Crowley said, believing that the photo had been made to look like a mock Victorian photograph.

"Sorry, I don't know what that word means. Cosplay?"

"Dress up in cool outfits."

"Oh. Yes, then I suppose we do."

Crowley stared at the photo some more then pushed it back under the door to Aziraphale.

He sat back on the edge of the bath. He felt less scared of Aziraphale now. "I- I was wearing sunglasses in that photo. Was it to hide my eyes?"

"Yes."

"Do you really think you can heal my amnesia?"

"I really hope so. I don't know why I wouldn't be able."

Crowley felt numb. He gave in and decided to trust that Aziraphale did want to help him. Still shaking, still frightened, he decided to open the door. Without really thinking about his actions, working on autopilot, he waved a hand at the door and the lock moved by itself. He stared with wide-eyed shock, first at the door and then at his hand.

Aziraphale carefully pushed the door open. "Crowley? Can I come in? Or would you prefer to come out?"

"Just come in," Crowley said in defeat, wanting to get this over and done with as soon as possible.

"Alright."

Aziraphale slowly entered the room and knelt down in front of Crowley where he still sat perched on the edge of the bath. He reached a hand up hesitantly towards his face. Crowley could see the worry in his eyes.

"Just do it," Crowley breathed, and scrunched his eyes tightly shut.

He felt fingers lightly press against his forehead, and then a pleasant warmth spread out across his face and the headache he had had since waking vanished. His vision blurred, and then everything went dark and he passed out.

* * *

Aziraphale caught Crowley before he fell backwards into the bath and lifted him up whilst getting to his feet. He carried him in his arms to the living room and laid him down on the sofa before pulling over a chair and sitting down beside him.

If this didn't work, he didn't know what he was going to do. He felt scared and helpless. He placed his palm to Crowley's forehead and tried to heal him again, just in case, needing to feel like he was doing something useful. Eventually he sat back and stared at the demon nervously, waiting for him to wake up.

It felt to Aziraphale as though an excruciatingly long time had passed before Crowley finally opened his eyes, but really it had only been about ten minutes.

Crowley glanced around blearily, taking everything in and wincing at the light. He looked confused. His eyes fell on Aziraphale and he blinked a few times. "What happened?"

"Crowley?" Aziraphale breathed worriedly. "Have you gotten your memory back? Do you know who I am?"

"You're Aziraphale. You're an angel, and I'm a demon. Did- did I lose my memory or was that a dream?"

"Oh! Oh, Crowley! Thank goodness it worked! You've no idea how relieved I am. You had amnesia I think. You frightened me half to death!"

"I frightened you? I thought you were some sort of sex offender."

"I'm sorry! I should have known you wouldn't be comfortable with me touching your face like that."

"Sorry I threw you against the door. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine! Don't worry about me. I'm so sorry for frightening you like that. How are you feeling?"

"Much better now." Crowley's gaze fell to the coffee stain on the floor. He waved a hand and it vanished. "I can't believe I wished a mug of coffee into being like that without even realising what I was doing. I was using my powers all over the place."

"We are very lucky you didn't do anything dangerous."

"I'm lucky you rang me," Crowley said, then he stopped and stared into Aziraphale's eyes. "Very lucky. I thought I was all alone, angel. I knew I lived here by myself, and I couldn't find phone numbers for family or friends or anything. I thought I was just some loner. I'm- I'm glad I have you."

"And I'm glad I have you, dear."

"Heh. You're stuck with me."

They smiled at each other and Aziraphale edged closer in his seat. Crowley leant towards the angel and their lips met. The demon let out a happy little sigh.

Aziraphale's heart fluttered. He kissed him again and again. "I take it you remember that we're together?"

Crowley grinned. "Of course I do, you daft thing."

"Well, I just wanted to make sure all your memories are back."

"I'm back to normal, don't you worry. Or as close to normal as I'll ever be anyway. Angel, I bloody love you."

Aziraphale beamed. "I love you too."

After a few more kisses, Crowley pulled back. "What do you think of my blue eyes? I wanted to surprise you with them. I guess I did in the end, just not in the way I expected."

Aziraphale's gaze darted from Crowley's serpentine eye to his blue one. "Well, it's a stunning shade of blue and it does suit you, but you don't quite look yourself anymore. I do love your eyes so. Oh, but they are very lovely and I'm sure I'll get used to them," he added quickly when Crowley's smile faded.

"Nah, it's fine. They're kinda itchy to be honest. But I do enjoy wearing them around humans."

Crowley clicked his fingers and the remaining contact lens vanished, leaving both his eyes yellow once more.

"So," the demon said with a smirk. "We're superheroes, are we?"

"Well, I did not think it advisable to tell you that you're a demon. 'Superhero' seemed a good way to explain your powers to you. And I know how you like your action films."

"And you kept that photo, all this time?" Crowley said, teasing Aziraphale relentlessly. "And you keep it in your wallet?"

"Ah, well, yes. It's a lovely photo I always thought." Aziraphale bit his lip and averted his eyes, feeling embarrassed.

The picture had been taken decades before they had confessed their love to each other, but even back then he'd known that he had feelings for the demon, he had known for a very long time.

Photographs were still a relatively new invention at the time and it had been exciting to have a couple of pictures taken of the pair of them. It had been amusing to see themselves on paper like that, but ultimately they agreed that it was best to destroy the pictures as it was dangerous to keep evidence of their friendship like that.

Crowley had lifted his own photo into the air with a dramatic gesture and the picture had winked out of existence. Aziraphale, still clutching his own, had reluctantly raised it in order to do the same, but when it had come down to it he had been unable to bring himself to destroy it. Instead he'd teleported it to his pocket whilst pretending to Crowley that he had vanished it. He'd felt guilty about keeping it and numerous times over the years he had resolved to destroy it, but he changed his mind every time. It was the only picture he had of Crowley and he couldn't bear to part with it.

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale said, "I know I shouldn't have kept it, but I just couldn't help myself. Silly of me. Dangerous."

Crowley walked over to a bookcase and picked up a book. He flicked through it as he walked back to Aziraphale. "I can't blame you for keeping it, angel," he said. He pulled something out from the pages of his book and dropped it on Aziraphale's lap. He sat down. "I mean, I did the same thing."

Aziraphale stared at the photo in wonder. "Oh! Crowley! Look at that! And yours is in such good condition too!"

"Yeah, angel, that's 'cause I've not had it folded up and wedged in a wallet for decades."

Aziraphale couldn't stop smiling. "This is so romantic."

"Oh, shut up." Crowley took the photo back and returned it to his book. He was blushing. "Now let's go get some dinner, shall we? I'm ravenous."

"Ooh! Yes! Me too!" Aziraphale moved excitedly to the door while Crowley returned his book to his bookshelf. They had been planning to go to the Ritz and they could still make it there in plenty of time if they were quick.

"Bloody hell, I left the Bentley outside that stupid café. I'll go pick it up tomorrow, I'm sure it'll be safe enough until then. We can walk to the Ritz, it shouldn't take long." He sighed wistfully. "I never even had a chance to try that salted caramel cake."

Aziraphale's interest was piqued. "Salted Caramel?"

"Yeah, maybe we should go there for lunch tomorrow. If they're open again after trying to brain their customers with falling chandeliers that is. I bet they'll give us free food. Least they can do. Especially if I hint I'm considering suing them for injuring me."

"Crowley, please don't sue them. That's very cruel and it might force them to shut down," Aziraphale hesitated. "Well, at least find out if the food is any good first."

Crowley opened the door and gestured for Aziraphale to go through.

They were halfway down the stairs when Aziraphale stopped and let out a gasp. "I just remembered! You said your people contacted you about wanting a report. It sounded very urgent!"

"What? Oh, yeah, that."

"Perhaps we should go back up to your flat and sort it out."

Crowley waved a hand dismissively and carried on walking downstairs. "Nah. It's fine. They'll get it when they get it. It's not even a week late yet. They need to learn some patience."

"Patience is a virtue," Aziraphale said with a quirk of the lip.

"Enough of that," Crowley warned, but he was smiling.

Crowley wished some sunglasses into existence and pushed them up his nose. Together they stepped outside into the street.


End file.
